Page 12 of Hoodoo House
“Yes. Are you familiar with the company?”
Declan’s face remained blank.
“They’re an important Canadian publisher,” Charlie explained.
“Ah,” Declan grunted.
Charlie turned back to Mr Yamada. “So, how exactly can we help you?”
“Mount Temple Press operates a charitable trust. Through it we provide a retreat at Hoodoo House near Rosebud with full support services, as well as a stipend to worthy writers who generate novels for the publisher.”
“Generatenovels?” Declan echoed. “That’s an odd way to put it.”
Mr Yamada’s face flushed. “I’ll have you know that we give them a safe creative space and promise them all the support that they need on their road to publication.”
Charlie stammered “I think…what Declan meant to say was—”
“Forgive me,” Yamada interrupted. “I didn’t mean to sound defensive, it’s just that we’ve been under a great deal of stress lately. You see, last week Malcolm Tull, our latest writer-in-residence, was found dead at Hoodoo House.”
“So, not such a safe creative space after all,” Declan said.
“The coroner is still looking into it, but apparently Mr Tull had more than the usual amount of his medication in his system.”
“Suicide?” Charlie asked.
Mr Yamada leaned in. “According to the coroner, there was also some bruising on his neck. They’re treating the death as suspicious.”
Declan shrugged. “That sounds like something the police should deal with.”
“His death, yes, but there’s something else I need your help with,” Mr Yamada said. “Mr Tull’s computer is missing and it’s essential that I get it back. The only known copy of his latest manuscript is on it.”
Yamada stopped suddenly as the waiter appeared, placing two scotches, an imported beer and a fourteen-dollar basket of salted fries on the table. Mr Yamada waited until the server had departed before knocking back his scotch and asking, “So can you help me?”
Declan swirled the scotch in his glass. “A missing computer? That’s still a job for the cops.”
“That is precisely what I am trying to avoid,” Yamada whispered.
“What are you trying to avoid?” Charlie asked.
“The police finding the computer first.”
Declan cocked his head. “Go on.”
“Malcolm Tull could be very charismatic when he wanted to be,” Mr Yamada said as he signalled the waiter.
“Would you care for another, sir?” the waiter asked.
“Make it a double,” he said, tapping his fingers on the table.
He turned to Declan and Charlie. “Malcolm and I, we…had sex. Just once! I swear it. It was highly inappropriate given our relationship.”
“And your relationship was?” Declan asked.
“I was unlucky enough to be his editor.”
“Why do you say unlucky?” Declan asked.
“Malcolm Tull was a nasty son of a bitch to most people. He was self-centred, verging on narcissistic, never admitted to being wrong and he treated all others as inferiors. I don’t know anyone who got along with him.”
